Sunday, March 27, 2016

How To Have Easter

Pass the babies around the table, kiss them good and snorgle them up. Eat the ham and dolmades and deviled eggs and greens and carrots from Mermer's garden along with the asparagus and gouda tart, the pineapple and cheese casserole, the hummus, the mac and cheese, the bread, the rolls, the key lime pie. Declare this to be the perfect Easter menu. Because it is.

Challenge Gibson and the tiny fairy-girl Lenore to a hugging competition. Judge on tightness of squeeze and tolerance of kisses. Declare them both to be winners. Let August kiss my face and make blubbering noises. Watch him as Jessie lets Uncle Hank offer him a lemon slice for the first time.

Laugh as he grimaces and then brings the lemon back to his mouth again and again for the same outcome. Admire his brown wide-wale corduroy Oshkosh overalls that go with his brown wide-open eyes, his curly black lashes, his sweet slobber on my face, the smacky sound as we pop open-mouth kisses.

Take the granddaughter as often as possible and feed her bottles. Lie on the bed with her where she was born and admire her very presence and beauty. Watch the daddies hold and play with their babies and see the pride and love in their eyes and know that this is perfection.

Rejoice in the renewed health of our friends.

Explain to Owen about the difference between blood relatives and heart relatives when he asks you.

Admire the Lego chick that Uncle Mark helped Owen make. Hug Mark as much as possible. Tell him over and over again how glad you are that he is there.

Kiss the newly-weds, be glad for it all.

Come home and continue the count-down until the Nurse Practitioner appointment tomorrow. Try to explain to your husband why you are so anxious. Say something about how you can't stand the idea of anyone looking inside of your body to find your hidden secrets which are your own to keep. Play cards, get your ass whipped. Pet the cats and feed them treats. Clean up the kitchen and find six sea scallops in the freezer to thaw and cook.

Drink a martini.

Discover that Jim Harrison has died. Remember the night you saw him read at a local dive where he was burly and boisterous and drunk and didn't give one goddammed shit. Think about the night you were reading his poems on the beach at St. George Island.

Accept that the rain still falls.

Drink another martini.

Continue to remember that by this time tomorrow, the appointment will be long done.

Try to give yourself some wise and calm mother-love. Remember that you are a grown-ass woman.

Look up to realize that the sky has grown a strange color of peach and purple.

Remember that you have a stashed and cherished Ativan to get you through tomorrow's appointment.

9 comments:

Oh if I lived in Lloyd I just know I'd be Aunt Jo because I am so in love with your family. My heart melts every time I see Hank holding a baby. And just everyone, they are so full of love. Happy Easter Ms. Moon. I'll be thinking if you as you get thru tomorrow.

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